Ever Onward
by Solitary Confinement
Summary: No one said that moving on would be so painful, especially when the past still clings to the present. Freya, Fratley, and the breaking of familiar ties.


This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, Italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

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: Ever Onward :

Every day Freya woke up to the sound of hammers pounding wood and iron and the voices of hard men calling across to one another. She would rise, tired and groggy, until the scent of fresh tea wafted up to her nose. The taste and heady flavor would always shrug the last weariness from her shoulders. This was her time, her routine that she treasured more than anything. Complemented with a stale biscuit and a fruit of sorts, it was enough to keep her moving until midday fast.

When she allowed herself to finish breakfast, Freya would don her apparel of leather breeches, a thick cotton tunic, and her red, rain-resistant jerkin. Carefully she would knot leather strips to support her bony ankles, then the thinner strips along her wrists. Lastly would come her battered helmet, the tall crest and dragon wings worn from time and travel. Six years had seen itself on the surface, marred and crooked with crude repairs. Despite the age, she would not dare part with it. It was a piece of her history, one she valued as greatly as the tattered yellow ribbon on her tail. She did not want those memories to be forgotten.

Dressed, she could walk to the door of her small home and open it, letting the wet wind of the Burmecian mountains caress her fur and silvery hair. Snatching the mythril lance that always waited within reach, she took her first steps into a city being reborn from mud and ashes.

"A good morn' to you, Lady Freya!" Someone would cry, pausing in their labor to greet the renowned Dragon Knight.

"Good morning to you as well." She would reply in turn, not really bothering to see who it was. Every morning someone would announce her presence to the street, sometimes the same person as the last. Being present at the literal crossroads of two main avenues was explanation enough.

Careful to watch her step in the street, Freya would follow the nearer as it cut straight to the walls of the kingdom. People would rise and greet her as she passed, and she put up a front of energy and pride to keep their spirits aloft. Nearly two years of construction and still her people worked as hard as the first day. She felt inadequate compared to them, so proud and aloof, yet she being sullen and without such aspirations for greatness. Her experiences in the world all but burned that innocence from her heart.

After a short time the walls that divided city from grassy wilderness would dominate her view. Nearly ten meters tall and pockmarked with holes and crumbling mortar. Those walls had stood for centuries, ancient in ways that Burmecia itself could not understand. They had held back monsters and invaders at every time in history, always guarding the frail and the meek within. It was a cruel reminder that no walls were truly unbreakable. The black mages had taught her this much. The world had taught her the depths to which people sunk in a war.

"G'morning, Lady Crescent." One of the dangerously young men would reply from his place at the great gate of the city. "Come to start the watch?"

"Yes." Freya was always concerned about the men who took up arms as part of the defense. Some of them, like him, were hardly old enough to be called men. Beggars, however, could not be choosers. These were the only ones suitable to bear a spear to keep the monsters from festering within the abandoned homes by the great wall. They were too few in number to be distracted with living a normal, peaceful life.

"There's nothing to report 'cept a few critters that came too close to the gate." The boy declared proudly.

"Very good. What of the patrol?

"Oh, Sir Iron-Tail? He came back a while ago..."

"Where is he?"

The youth pointed towards the temporary barracks that hugged the stone wall. "In there, Lady Crescent."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Ma'am!"

She would take little concern of the shaggy men that wandered around these shelters, many of them smelling bad and lacking in social grace. They had come from isolated villages high in the mountains, returning at the call of their King to aid the resurrection of Burmecia. Appearances notwithstanding, they were among the most loyal of warriors left. Hardened by the rains and mountains, they were.

Freya moved the heavy cotton drapes away as she passed through the door, her ears picking up numerous conversations and her nose smelling sweat and blood. The wounded rested here, and the rest planned their days in all seriousness. Humor, what little of it her people possessed, was rare to see in these times. The voices hushed as they looked at the newcomer, but started anew when they recognized her silhouette.

"Freya." The tired voice always cut through the din like a knife, his voice always able to catch her attention.

"Fratley." She said in greetings, eyeing the worn knight with a cinch in her chest. The candles and oil lamps threw shadows across the flimsy wood walls, but she never forgot his appearance. Despite the years, he still looked the same. Tall, thin but corded with muscles beneath a shimmering silver fur. His hair was loose around his shoulders, untended yet still pretty. It seemed no matter the effort, he never looked tired or ragged. Even after weeks in the field he looked fresh as flower blooms in the summer.

"How are you?" He always sounded concerned, always worried, anxious. He lived in fear of loss, gripping tight to what he had now. The loss of memories would do this to a man.

"Well. You?"

"I am also well..." He stood and walked to her side, briefly putting his arms about her shoulders. "I have missed you these few days."

She had to choke back the bitter cynicism that arose with his words. Fratley was alive, yet he wasn't. This person walked in his body, spoke in his voice and mimicked his idle fidgeting, but it was not her Fratley. This man held none of the vitality, the calm arrogance that led him through the rigors of their schooling to become Dragon Knights. His drive and ambition had stagnated, now only dedicated to his role as a knight and as a friend to Freya. He tried, through, tried so hard to reignite the sparks of the love they shared, but it would never come. It, too, seemed as dead as the Fratley that she once knew.

She squirmed in his gentle hold, and he withdrew immediately and looked apologetic. "I'm sorry."

He apologized so much, for every infraction or possible wrong he may have done. He made amends so many times she swore that he believed it could somehow repair their broken ties.

"It's alright."

The pause lasted and lasted. "So what brings you to the Gate?"

"It's the first of the month. I have been assigned the watch."

He nodded. "Yes...it is the first. The days pass by quickly in the plains."

"Is there any trouble to be found?"

"None."

"Then I shall begin the patrol."

"Wait!" He said in a louder voice. "There's no rush, Freya. Sit with me and talk. I miss your voice."

Freya always shivered at his requests, no matter the reason. The personal invitation was so foreign coming from the mouth of a stranger. No matter the length of their conversations, the depths of their philosophy and views of life, it never changed the facts. Fratley, her Fratley, was gone. This man was a ghost, lingering and unable to move on, attaching himself to her to have a purpose in living on. It was silent torture to look at his features and see him pleading like a child for her love.

"I...cannot, Fratley. There is much to be done today."

She would leave the barracks, ignoring his pleas and apologies. They tore at her heart, reopening the same wounds all over again. He was trying to restart their lives as if he never left Burmecia that day to hunt down Alexandria's legendary General. He was years late, too many to leave any hope left for them. Freya was moving on, and he was holding her back. Soon, she knew, the circle would be complete when she left Burmecia to find herself and would leave him to discover his own path. The wanderlust from her times abroad called to her, and she felt little holding her still in Burmecia. Only sorrowful memories and the dead remained.

"Freya!" His voice came.

He was following her this time. He had always let her do as she wished, not wanting to risk some unseen insult. Freya looked back and saw him approach on swift toes, but he halted just beyond intimate space. He looked afraid.

"Freya, why won't you stay with me?"

"I have my duty." She explained.

"No, I don't mean that..." He grew quiet, unable to voice the words.

Freya understood, then. He wasn't questioning her, he was asking about them. Both of them and their relationship, the forced feelings and the lies. He was bringing it to the front, asking the direct question that she feared. It would force her to make a choice that she wasn't very willing to make. The spear was cast, and now...

"Freya, I love you. Don't you see that?"

"I..."

"I've tried to be there for you, to be someone you can trust and confide in. I've tried to be the person you want me to be!"

"This isn't about me!" She cried back, refusing his words. "It isn't about us, Fratley. It is about you, it always has been."

"M-me?"

"It's been _six years..._" The words were heavy, laden with time and the memories within them. She had done many things in that time, grown in ways she never expected. Now, she knew, it was time to remove the last obstacle that prevented her from truly moving on. It was time. "Six years, Fratley, and you're still in the past. Still where I am not."

"Freya...?"

"I need to move on. I must, if I want to be free of my specters. You need to understand that, Fratley. You need to let me go...as I have you."

He visibly shivered, hearing the words he so feared. "But..."

"No." She stated firmly, cutting his argument down. "I can't...I can't put my life on hold for yours, not when you can live it just fine. Six years have made us different from what we were, and it cannot be the same ever again. I have seen so much, done so many things, I...can't be held down by a dream."

"But we can make it _real_! We only need try..." He was desperate, struggling with himself.

"It isn't enough." Freya took a tentative step towards the man, unsure of what else to say. "We are...too different, you and I. You need..._must_ see that, Fratley."

"But I _need_ you." He whimpered, eyes screwed closed with tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She hesitated, but put her arms around him in a clumsy embrace. He offered no resistance. "Live."

"L-live?"

"Live how you want to. Don't force yourself to be someone you don't like." Freya felt a tear wet the fur by her muzzle, her own emotions pained by their fates. She leaned up and kissed his forehead. "I set you free, Iron-Tail Fratley. Live. Look ahead instead of behind, and live."

She stepped back, hugging her arms to keep from quivering herself. Fratley fell to his knees, bent at the waist and weeping. Turning, his fragile expression hovering in second sight, she began a slow walk down to the basin and wet plains beyond the walls. Breaking ties was always difficult, but her heart ached so badly it felt ready to shrivel and die. It was six years all over again, great expectations and promises, longing and suffering. The past years were filled with these thoughts, and now it was ended and cut free. Freya felt a glimmer of hope through her pain.

Tomorrow, surely, would be the start of something new. Be it for good or for ill, but it would be new.

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**_Author's Rants:_** Oh, what's this? He actually wrote something short and involving characters from the game? Shocking, I know. I've been working on and off with different stories to expand my ability, and I admit that I have trouble reigning in my ideas to a simple short story. It's been a while since I've tried to, but I think this came out okay. Feel free to comment and critique this as you see fit, I'll love you to pieces if you do. Well, I'll be grateful, rather. You get the point.


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